The Curse Strikes Again

Hello All,

Again we find ourselves in the middle of February and it is time, once more, for Miami Hurricanes baseball.

For many, it is a side distraction that takes up a few months while football lies dormant.

For me, the Baseball Hurricanes are the only team that rivals my love for the Evil Empire.

Opening night is this Friday night, and I will be in attendance.

I love baseball games at The Light more than anything in the world.

Milkshakes.

Awful concrete slabs that have, I must admit, killed feeling in much of my ass.

RAAAGGGGGGGGAAAAAARRRMMMMMMM.

The ping of metal bats, one of my favorite sounds in the world.

Duke the soda guy.

Ushers who have made it their sole purpose in life to torment students who don’t look like they bought chairback seats. Unless they have boobs, in which case they have priority over everyone, including the people who actually bought the seats (I’m not bitter).

Sitting down the left field line, yelling at Mike McGee ( he STILL is at FSU…guy is like herpes) as he smashes his 14549843518648th career homer against the ‘Canes…and all the while spitting sunflower seeds and nearly getting in fights with FSU fans over…really….nothing.

Walk off home runs into the parking garage.

Titanic for pulled pork and IPAs before the game and Friday’s to rub Jason Hagerty’s swag in Scarpa’s face after.



Little leaguers standing for the Anthem with the players.



The between innings hamburger race.



Jay-Ro on the mic.

Baaaaaaaaallllllllll twwwwoooooooo, WHOOO!

And, of course, the most sacred of all traditions, Scarpa and I picking “our guy” before opening night every year.

You see, my friend Scarpa and I went to at least 100 ‘Canes games together over the years.

He was there with me when we were down 12-0 to Clemson….before we recorded an out.

He was there with me when Dick O’Brien was our primary catcher.

We watched two teams that qualified for Omaha and got the aforementioned McGee to turn his attention away from the game long enough to answer the age old question: “Anniston or Cox”.

We also are men of the people. We love the underdog. As such, we have a keen eye for picking the guy on the roster each season who is going to be ours. We pick the guy who flies under the radar that we think is going to break out in a large way. Sort of like getting in on Microsoft in the 80s.

So far, we’ve failed more than we have succeeded. Here is a quick recap:

2006: Nick Freitas

The Flyin’ Hawaiian was supposed to be the most physically talented kid on the team. He had a laser rocket arm, was built like a racehorse and was faster than a Cheetah fart. Here was his stat line freshman year: .077 batting average, 1 start, 1 RBI, 0 impact. And now for the icing on the cake: he banged the girl I had a huge crush on. Nick ended up transferring to Southern Idaho (or something weird like that). Wasn't upset to see him go...although he will always be our first.

2007: Kevin Diego

Diego actually ended up winning a temporary starting job on one of the worst Miami teams I have ever or will ever see. He didn’t do much with it. He then quit baseball after the season ended. 0-2. Starting to notice a trend…

2008: Jon Weislow

Nice guy I had some classes with. Hot girlfriend who was also cool. Very similar to Freitas in skill set. Was a transfer, so we thought his experience would help him carve out a niche. Season stat line: 5-24, 5 runs, 5 RBI. He had a bit of a breakout the next season, meaning he had a big series against UiF, but disappeared like a ship into the night as the season went on. Sigh.

2009: Teddy Blackman

This is when we thought it was all over. Blackman became a starter about midway through and actually was installed as the No. 2 hitter for the rest of the season.

Teddy made 36 starts and .273 with 13 RBI and 21 runs, primarily hitting in the No. 2 hole. He also lead the team with a .391 batting average in the postseason. The team underachieved, but Teddy was a solid contributor.

Then he transferred to FSU.

I thought this was as bad as it could get. 2010: Frankie Ratcliff

The undersized pit bull from Key West became an instant contributor as the leadoff man and second baseman, although I can’t find stats. Miami seems to have erased them from the internet. More on that in a second.

Frankie, who we loved because of his intensity, got busted for selling pot in Septemeber. {Dan starts making excuses} Ok, whatever, stupid decision but nothing a few gassers won’t solve...

And then the search of his apartment turned up a crap load of steroids. Yes. A crap load.

{He got busted again for pot once he was kicked off the team, but hey, who's counting?}

You broke my heart Frankie, you broke my heart.

In the annals of picking “our guy”, this was the first time I ever felt betrayed. I feel like Frankie deserves to be taken fishing on Lake Tahoe by Scarpa and our buddy Frankie Carbone. Seriously. It’s a little messed up to be honest.

And that’s where we are at.

I had a legitimate debate about whether we should keep this going for the coming season.

Then, I decided, we had to. Because just like at Mark Light, hope springs eternal. We got beat by UiF in to end our season the last two years. And you know what? Ragarm will still be there Friday night, as begrudging with his praise as ever. So will Duke. And the milkshakes. And the ushers. And those concrete slabs. And me.

Because that is what we do. It is not the greatest stadium, but God damn it, it is our stadium And I would not have it any other way, wins and losses be damned.

Good luck Chantz Mack, you’re gonna need it.

Always guard the inbound passer, and give 'em hell on Friday night 'Canes!

The Curse of Stein and Scarpa

Hello All,

Let me preface this by saying I though of it in a bar last night. Alone. Not drunk, just alone with my black coffee.

I feel terrible. Honest to goodness, I feel like I have just ruined someone else's life, and I did it unwillingly and unknowingly.

To make it worse, I not only ruined one person's life, but I am afraid I might have ruined an entire fan base's.

First, a little background.

Every year my friend Scarpa and I attend as many UM Baseball games as we can. It is a little harder now that we have graduated, but we have been talking about trying to get down there for one of the big weekend series.

Anyway, to say that we love that program is an understatement. I always have been and always will be a football guy first, but UM baseball is a VERY close second in my heart. Ever since my family went to see the 2001 team (eventual national champions, maybe the best college team ever assembled) play in a tournament in Minneapolis and the players took us under their wings for a few days (batboys, team gear, autographs, hanging out in the team hotel lobby, playing

video games with players, etc.) I have been hooked.

Well, Scarpa and I started a tradition when we were freshmen. We decided that we were going to pick out an under the radar freshman to root on. He was going to be "our guy". We knew that his contributions would probably be fairly minimal, but if he did succeed we were in on the ground floor. It's like taking a risk on a penny stock. Or dating Kate Beckinsale

while she had braces and acne, before she turned in to the Secretary of Taste. And yet, I digress.

Our first year we picked a little known reserve outfielder names Nick Freitas (we were going to pick a guy named Chris Gawenda, a buddy of mine from class, but we decided that the chances of him unseating fellow freshman Yonder Alonso were somewhere between slim and none...on this we were correct).

His stat line for the season looked something like this:

.077 Batting Average, 1 start, 0 RBI, 0 HR, banged the girl I had a huge crush on.

Thing didn't get much better for Nick after that. His high point was 4 HR in Fall Practice before his Sophomore year, but then he turned back in to the same old Nick. He appeared in 33 games for a terrible team before transferring to Southern Utah, where he actually became a star (albeit, at a terrible baseball school).

And with that, Scarpa and I were 0-1.

Our sophomore year we took a flyer on another outfielder, this time names Kevin Diego:

Well, I couldn't find any stats for that season online, but I vaguely recall him becoming the temporary starting left fielder on a terrible team (making Scarpa and I look like geniuses) before hitting something like .150 for the rest of the season and then summarily quitting the sport afterward (making us look like assholes).

0-2.

Our junior year we went with a guy named Jon Weislow. Jon was a guy I had a few classes with. Real nice guy (although not the brightest) and to make things better, he was dating a friend of mine that lived in the apartment downstairs.

Weislow was touted as the fastest player on the team. He was built like a brick shithouse. We figured he was a lock to break our funk. He also was a sophomore, but we counted him because he had transferred in.

Jon then "Totaled five hits in 24 at-bats with five runs and five RBI" according to the Miami SID site. Again, we had struck out.

The reason I tell you all this is to tell you the following.

As seniors, Scarpa and I picked a fourth outfielder (you know, for consistency's sake) names Ted Blackman.

Teddy didn't get much playing time early on, but eventually became a regular in the lineup.

Teddy made 36 starts and .273 with 13 RBI and 21 runs, primarily hitting in the No. 2 hole. He also lead the team with a .391 batting average in the postseason. The team underachieved, but Teddy was a solid contributor who single handedly turned the Curse of Stein and Scarpa around.

Or so we thought.

Teddy was supposed to be a big time contributor this season. Instead, on Thursday, I read that Teddy had transferred to a Junior College in order to expedite his transfer to...Florida State. The most hated rival of all. Home of Mike Martin, Lord of No Rings. Home of the most racist, redneck baseball fans in the world.

I feel like Richard Alpert did the second he realized that Locke was really the Smoke Monster. I'm shocked, I am angry, but really, I am more afraid.

What kind of unknown forces do Scarpa and I possess?

First, we have the unique ability to guarantee a player will be nothing but unproductive for three years by jokingly claiming them as our favorite (let's be real, my favorites for those three teams were, in order: Jon Jay, Yonder Alonso and Yonder Alonso).

Then, we finally reverse our fortune and see one of our hatchlings succeed when everyone around him wasn't...only to transfer to our arch-rival (where he will probably take over for Mike McGee in left field a year from now...Mikey McGee is personal favorite of Stein and Scarpa, but that's a different story).

I suddenly am beginning to feel like I feel when watching LOST.

Everytime I think I have an answer, five more questions are revealed. Every time I think that I have it all figured out, the carpet gets pulled from under me.

Why do my players consistently fail? Why, when they succeed, do they only do so to disappoint me later on? Should I pick another player this year? Is it wrong of me to do this? AND WHO THE F*CK IS IN JOHN LOCKE'S BODY?!?!?!?!?!

Anyway, maybe I am taking all this a little seriously. Scarpa and I plan on pulling up the rosters and going through each newcomer, one by one, in the next couple of weeks to emerge with out guy. We will press on, because that is what we do. It's tradition, a tradition beginning to join "RAAAAAAGGGGGGAAAAARRRRRMMMMMMMMM" and "BAAAAALLLLLLLLLL 2...WHOOOOO!" and "The Grand Illusion" in Miami lore. OK, not even close, but it is part of what makes going to games to sit on concrete slabs or in rotted wooden bleachers in the left field corner (and sneaking in a backpack of beer) so much fun, so much better than going to Miami football or basketball games.

I guess the point is that with a new season comes new hope, but should also bring with it a warning.

I apologize ahead of time to whichever newcomer Scarpa and I choose. You are starting off behind the 8 Ball.

And Teddy, it was fun. You brought me a little bit of added joy during a season I enjoyed the hell out of. But as we know from LOST, everything comes full circle. We will meet down the road. And while you will always have a place in our hearts, you have now become the enemy. See you in anotha life, brotha.